The Hedgewitch Queen (12 page)

I
do not remember reaching Tierrce d’Estrienne under cover of night. I do not remember the Guard entering the town, or the negotiation with the innkeeper. I do not remember being lifted down from the horse and carried, although I must have been, for I was awakened by morning sunlight falling across the foot of a bed.

I blinked in the flood of light, and the world spun. I smelled clean linen and lavender. Somewhere a fire crackled. Light-headed, I stared for quite some time at the ceiling, heavy beams and plaster, before darkness came. The darkness was my eyelids falling down.

I am home. It was all a dream.
Yet the roof was not the frescoed arch of my own room, and the bed was not mine, for all it was comfortable. I was too exhausted to care. Perhaps I was in the Palais infirmary, there having been some mischance—a hallucination, a fever from the damp in the garden? Lisele would be along shortly to bring me confits and order me to become well soon, for nobody braided her hair as well as I. And no lady or ladymaid laced her as well or as quickly as I did, either.

There was a short time of darkness. Finally, I heard voices, hushed as if they spoke in an invalid’s room. A woman, and a man.

“Poor child. She is still very ill,
sieur
.” Carefully accented, a merchant’s wife, heavily lisping, or drawing out the vowels in imitation of noble speech. For all that, she sounded kind, and I wondered who she was. A nurse? A physicker brought into the Palais?

“Our other sister died recently, of a similar fever. Twas a great shock to her, and traveling perhaps overmatched her strength.” Jierre di Yspres.

What is he doing here?
I lay very still. Tried to open my eyes, could not, felt work-roughened fingers on my wrist, feeling for the pulse.

The covers were pulled up almost to my chin. The reason occurred to me slowly, as dripping water soaking through doubled flannel. Of course—the Aryx. Nobody could see the Aryx, because then…what?

It was not a dream. Lisele will not be along to bring you confits.
I struggled to think through the haze.

“Broth and bread, and milk,” the woman said. “And this tisane, a small cupful thrice daily. Her pulse is weak and thready. I’ll charm her now,
sieur
, and return tomorrow.” The woman’s hand moved to my forehead, stroked my damp skin, and I smelled the peculiar heavy green of hedgewitchery.

Something very much like strength flooded me, a quiet warmth starting at my toes and rising through my body, warm and wonderfully cooling at the same time. I sighed.

A terrible thought struck me. “Tristan? Where are you?”
Why does it matter?
But I wanted to see d’Arcenne. I wanted to know he was alive. If this was no dream, was he still in the donjon?

“Seeing to the supplies, Vianne.” Jierre, unwontedly gentle. He addressed me almost tenderly, and that was another mystery. “Rest easy, he’s here.”

“Her betrothed?” The hedgewitch. They had found a hedgewitch skilled in healing for me. Why? I was not ill.

The thought coalesced, slowly took shape.
Fever. They have stopped in a town, and are in terrible danger. Because of me.

“Not yet.” Jierre’s tone was strange, as if he sought to hold back laughter.

“Clear to see he fancies her. And her such a pretty young
d’mselle
.” The hedgewitch clucked her tongue. “Now, here’s the tisane. And,
sieur
, not to be moving her for a good three days, that’s my recommend. She is quite ill. If you move her, she may suffer more fever.”

“My thanks,
m’dama
.” There was the sound of cloth moving. The hedgewitch’s fingers left my forehead, but the wonderful warmth remained. There was a clink—coin changing hands.

“Many thanks to you,
sieur
. Tis touching to see a brother caring for a sister so; and you two all alone in the world now.” The woman sounded chatty as a Court
dama
, and I hoped he would let her stay. The sound of a woman’s voice comforted me, reminded me of other voices. At Court, there was always chatter; it was a soothing sea-song behind even the quiet of the bedchamber.

But no, she left soon after, and my eyelids drifted open. I found Jierre di Yspres pulling a wooden chair up to the bedside. The angle of the sunlight had changed—late afternoon now, instead of morning. The white ceiling and thick beams were the same.

He saw I was conscious and smiled, his lean, dark face easing for a moment. Yet graven lines of worry bracketed his mouth, a single line between his dark eyebrows too. “Hello,
d’mselle
.” Softly and carefully. “We are in Tierrce d’Estrienne. The rest of the Guard has gone into the Shirlstrienne to wait for us. Tristan and I brought you to an inn, and contracted a hedgewitch physicker. How do you fare?”

I found I could speak, though still light-headed and dreamy. “Danger.” I wet my lips with my oddly numb tongue. “For you.”

He shook his head. “Not so much. The Duc’s spies are seeking a noblewoman fleeing at haste with a group of men four dozen strong. There are
letres
and heralds in the marketplaces with the wrong description, enough to make one laugh. Garonne di Narborre is probably near to Marrseize by now—the rumor is those phantoms have gone further to the south, to take ship for Tiberia. We have some breathing room,
d’mselle
. Do not worry so.”

I sighed. “The Captain?” It was the only question I could think to ask.

“Sore grieved you’re ill,
d’mselle
, but otherwise himself. He would not hear of leaving anyone else with you.” Jierre looked very serious now, but the lines had lessened. “He was very pale, when we found you had been struck by fever.”

Pale? No doubt he thinks of the danger to his men, even if you are too kind to say so.
“I beg your pardon,” I whispered. “The trouble.”

“No trouble,
d’mselle
. Little good it would do to have you die of fever. We can afford to halt a day or two.” He was seeking to be comforting, I realized, and wondered at it. When had di Yspres turned into a tut-tutting nurse?

I blinked slowly again. “I feel strange.” If he was a nurse, I sounded like a child. “My head feels light, and tis so cold.”

“The hedgewitch left a tisane. Could you take some, do you think?”

I considered the question. The room was large and airy, probably the best the inn had to offer, and boasted a table topped with a pitcher and three cups, four wooden chairs, a large fireplace, a window seat, and a large clothespress made of dark wood. I wondered if the watercloset had a bathing tub. I longed for a bath. “I should,” I finally whispered, when I remembered what he had asked me. “Thirsty.”

“Say no more, then.” He moved about, and poured me a small cupful of dark ruby syrup. I recognized the smell—hart’s-fleet and fevrebit, the Feversbane. I wondered why she had thought to dose me with such a strong tisane. I could not be
that
ill.

But I was so
cold
. The warmth from the hedgewitch’s charming had fled. My body was not my own, weak and numb. I hoped I had not soiled myself; the embarrassment—

He propped me up on the pillows and held the cup to my lips, then fetched me a cup of cool water. I began to wake my dozing wits.

“Did I do anything foolish?” I asked wistfully, and was surprised. I did not think Jierre di Yspres capable of giddy laughter. He tipped his head back, seeking to master himself, and his chuckles rang against the roof.

Eventually he calmed. “No,
d’mselle
.” He lowered himself onto the chair by my bedside. “We were the fools, to think you an empty-headed Court dame. You did nothing foolish. In fact, you tried to insist we take the Aryx and leave you behind, until Tristan told you in no uncertain terms we could not think of leaving you and to stopper your mouth. Then you insisted we bypass the town and go into the forest, and you tried to prove you were well and hale by reciting Tiberian verbs. You showed great valor,
d’mselle
di Rocancheil.”

His dark eyes gleamed with merriment, and the lines were gone completely. I bit my lower lip, thinking he was mocking me but unable to decide just how good-naturedly. “I beg your pardon. I do not mean to be any trouble, in such a dire situation.”

“Your Majesty.” Now he was dignified, drawing himself up, every inch the Guard. He would never be considered handsome, but later in life when his face settled on his bones he would be thought of as severe and dignified. His features would hold up well. “Tis an honor to serve you, and I mean every word of my oath. I spoke in haste once, out of anger and pain and grief. Please, do me the honor of forgetting that outburst and accepting my apology. I offer it in good faith.”

My eyelids turned heavy, great weariness swamping me. “Really,
chivalier
. I am the least queenly person I have ever met.”

“To yourself, mayhap.” He folded his arms across his chest, his leather belt creaking slightly. “The Aryx would not accept your touch if you were not at least capable of becoming such. Why else did the Blessed gift it to us? Now rest,
d’mselle
, an it please you. Tristan should be returning soon, and he will wish to speak with you.”

Oh, no.
That thought made me sigh again. I had no desire to speak to the Captain. “What, to scold me?” I closed my eyes. “I am merely a silly Court girl with too-noble feelings.”

That wrung another chuckle from di Yspres. He seemed very merry. Perhaps his wits were touched.

Then there were footsteps, and his laughter ceased as if cut by a knife.

Two knocks sounded on the door, a pause, then a third. The door was unbolted, and Jierre murmured something. The door closed again, and the bolt shot home.

“Well enough. How is she?” D’Arcenne, a heaviness to the words. Relief bloomed secretly in my chest, and I kept my lips pressed tight over it.

“The hedgewitch said we dare not move her for three days more, charmed her again, and left a different tisane. She will return tomorrow. The
d’mselle
was awake and seemed lucid, for a short time. Now I think she sleeps.” There was a short pause as their footsteps crossed to the table. “She asked for you.”

“Hm.” It was the same noise I had heard before from the Captain, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, a noncommittal reply. Someone approached the bed.

I opened my eyes to see Tristan d’Arcenne gazing down at me, his blue eyes dark and thoughtful. His bruised face looked much better, but his mouth turned down at the corners, and his eyebrows drew together. He was pale. “
D’mselle
.” There was a strangeness in his tone. “How do you fare?” He lowered himself gingerly into the chair while Jierre busied himself with something at the table.

“I beg your pardon.” My voice sounded thin and fretful, a thread in the room’s quiet. “I will be better tonight—we must make haste to escape.”

He shook his dark head. His voice was gentle, and I finally could think of the strangeness in it. I had never heard his tone so temperate. “I will not risk your death by traveling while you are feverstruck. Why did you not tell me you were so ill?”

I blinked at him, sinking into the bed—a real bed, such a luxury after the past few days. “I am not ill.” I searched for words. “I was simply so tired.”

“Unused to hard riding, and exhausted by grief,” Tristan said. “I was thoughtless, Vianne. Forgive me.”

The Captain himself, asking forgiveness? “What could I forgive you for?” I was honestly amazed. “Nobody craves
my
forgiveness,
chivalier
. It has been long since anyone asked it of me.” It was not quite true—di Yspres had just asked my forgiveness, too. I knew of women who feigned illness to force such declarations, and it irked me to possibly be counted among them. There was
nothing
wrong with me, save exhaustion that could be staved off if I exercised will and wit enough.

A yawn took me captive. I covered my mouth, reflexively, surprised by how heavy my arm was, weighted with lead.

D’Arcenne said nothing for a few moments. He leaned forward. “Well enough. Will you promise to rest, so we may leave here as soon as possible? I need you to regain your strength,
d’mselle
, not waste it. Help me. I do not know how else to ask.”

If he had leapt onto the table in a set of skirts and announced his desire to join the barbarian hordes of Tifrimat or Torkai, I would have been less amazed. As it was, I stared round-eyed at him for a long moment before remembering that he did ask me a question.

My wits were sorely blunted.
Come, Vianne. Sharpen yourself.
“You truly need my help?”

“Absolutely.” He even looked serious, sharp mountainfolk face set. Then again, he always did. When he was older he would not look like di Yspres. No, d’Arcenne would retain his looks for a long time, the bones under the skin preserving a certain beauty. “Please. Promise me you will rest, and stop insisting on being taken from here so quickly. Let me worry about the Duc d’Orlaans. Let me believe I am still capable of performing my duty.” Here he gave a bitter little laugh.

It was so unlike him, I thought perhaps I
did
have a fever, and it had strangled what wits I had left. “I will promise to rest, if…”
If you will not kill anyone on my account
was what I wished to say, but I could not make myself utter it. If I voiced the bargain, it would be admitting the murders had happened.

A noblewoman should not say such things. And I did not wish to. I hoped never to think on it again. I was so, so tired. If they
did
leave me in this room, I would be perfectly content. I would sleep, and the rest of the world could do what it would without my help at all.

D’Arcenne hovered, leaning close and watching me closely. “Anything you like. Set me your task,
d’mselle
.”

As if this were a silly courtsong, tasks set and a lady to die for.
I shook my head, my hair moving against the pillow. Fresh sheets, how luxurious; could I simply not stay here forever? “I shall rest.” To prove it, I closed my eyes.